Taking It Easy in Relaxed Rabat

I had spent the night in a faded hotel near the railway station here so that I could catch the first morning train to Fes. For many years I had dreamed of seeing Morocco, but my schedule allowed only eight days for highlights. So I’d planned a careful itinerary to get the most out of visits to the Middle Atlas Mountains and the historic towns of Fes and Meknes. Rabat was only a jumping-off point.

The hotel was dark and quiet when I made my way downstairs to leave. A locked chain held the front door shut. The night watchman, an old, green-eyed Berber who slept on a makeshift mattress behind the reception desk, wasn’t there. When I found him on the top floor stoking the water heater with wood, it was too late.

I took a later train, but what I saw in a short morning walk in Rabat persuaded me to return for a longer look.

Rabat is a cosmopolitan city (population 1.2 million when counted with adjacent Sale), and although it is visited by tourists, not many spend much time here. It has been the capital since 1912, when Morocco became a French protectorate. Its location on a bluff where the Bou Regreg River meets the Atlantic Ocean made more strategic logic to the French than the previous, inland capital, Fes, and it was also less of a hotbed for radicals. In a departure from colonial practice, the French built their ville nouvelle, new city, abutting the medina, the old, walled city, not far away.

The new city was the part of Rabat that I first encountered outside the main railway station. (Rabat is a two-hour train ride from Casablanca, the usual port of entry for air travelers.) The feel of the quarter is European but more spacious, the grids more perfect. Sloping gently downhill toward the medina is the main boulevard, Avenue Mohammed V. It is wide, lined with fat palm trees, banks, salons de the, newspaper kiosks, travel agents and government buildings.

Here the tree-shaded, terraced cafe of the Ho^tel Balima is one of the city’s most popular spots. This is where locals, expats and travelers meet, chat, people-watch and read the newspaper, all while drinking endless glasses of heavily sweetened fresh mint tea. Because the cafe lies within easy walking distance of the four most prominent historical sights on the south side of the city, as well as the medina and kasbah (fortress) to the north, it is the perfect place to study a guidebook and map, make sightseeing plans, jot notes in a journal or simply rest. I must have drunk a dozen glasses of tea doing all of the above.

Rabat had two imperial periods, the first at the end of the 12th century, the second at the end of the 18th. It was the first, under the rule of Sultan Yacoub al Mansour, that can be considered an age of glory. The ambition of this sultanate is best seen in the Hassan Tower, the unfinished minaret that remains the city’s most visible landmark. Begun in 1194, it was intended to be the highest in the Muslim world, but the sultan died five years later, and construction stopped at 145 feet.

Next to this is another great monument, the Mausoleum of Mohammed V. King Hassan II built the ornately tiled tomb for his father, the first monarch of independent Morocco; it was completed in 1971. Last year Hassan was laid to rest there by his son, the young King Mohammed VI.

Flanked by photogenic royal guards in traditional, colorful uniforms, the mausoleum can be respectfully entered by non-Muslims. Inside, I stood for some time on the balcony above the tombs and listened to the reader below recite from the Koran.

A 15-minute walk south is the excellent Archeology Museum. Displays and artifacts extend from Morocco’s ancient history to about the Middle Ages, but the focus is on its Roman past. I wished I had gone there before seeing some of the country’s other ruins to gain a sharper historical context first.

Continuing south, just beyond the city walls, I visited the necropolis of Chellah. At the beginning of the 14th century the Merenids built royal tombs over the Roman settlement of Sala Colonia. The ruins of this complex were not uncovered until 1931. I spent some hours reading in the tranquil gardens, seemingly far from the city.

But it wasn’t for the sights that I had come to Morocco. I had previously spent two years in Africa and another two in the Middle East and Asia, and was looking for that element that I loved most about being in those places: the assault on the senses. All the senses.

When I moved to Spain four years ago, I thought I would visit North Africa immediately. Morocco is only a two-hour plane ride from Barcelona, or a one-hour jet ferry ride across the Strait of Gibraltar. The two countries’ histories and culture are deeply entwined, from the Moorish occupation of Iberia to the Christians’ expulsion of Muslims (and Jews) and their settlement in northwest Africa. But my years in Spain passed, and trips were always to somewhere else.

As summer neared this year, and with it a move to San Diego, I decided I needed that final sensory experience before going back to Southern California. I left my wife finishing up her work at the University of Barcelona and caught a flight to Casablanca.

The “assault” happened that first morning in Rabat when I left the ville nouvelle and entered the medina. I was immediately immersed in distinctive sounds, smells, tastes. Small, noisy, crowded, it is less extensive than other Moroccan medinas, and dates only from the 17th century, but it’s still a powerful experience.

The main shopping street is Rue Souika. Here I started my slow, sensuous strolls through the various souks (markets), each with its own specialty, such as wool or jewelry. This is what I had come for: to be among the conical piles of spices--paprika, curry, pepper, many I didn’t recognize--and of olives, dates, nuts, polished vegetables. Strawberries were in season and plentiful. Nikes wrapped in cellophane. Stacks of T-shirts. Batteries, hairbrushes, bras. CD players. There was music, Algerian Rai music, a song that I recognized.

In most Moroccan medinas this kind of leisurely stroll is accompanied by almost nonstop offers and hard-sell pitches--the downside to a Moroccan visit. But not here. Because so few people are employed in the tourist trade, visiting Rabat is virtually hassle-free. Being able to stroll through a medina as such a passive observer of daily life was impossible in the more tourist-infested Fes and Meknes.

But because there are fewer tourists, there is less English spoken, and I wished I had brought my pocket French dictionary. French is the second language, the one I was addressed in, and the one found in museum captions, menus and hotels beside its Arabic equivalent. Any difficulties this caused were, however, well compensated for by the relaxed feel of the city.

The narrow roads of the medina all seem to lead out to the Kasbah des Oudaias, the 12th century citadel built on the bluff above the mouth of the Bou Regreg River. The kasbah is entered through the Bab Oudaia, the massive arched gate that is another of Sultan Mansour’s legacies.

Inside, the streets are narrow and heavily shadowed, the houses washed in white and light blue, many with window boxes full of flowers. It reminded me of a village in Andalusia--an accurate impression, as most of the houses were built by Muslim refugees fleeing the Christian Reconquest of Spain.

There were great views from the Semaphore Platform, which faces Rabat’s sister city Sale across the river. From here, watchmen could see vessels approaching from the ocean. As I stood there, large cargo ships that had come through the Strait of Gibraltar passed by, heading down the west coast of Africa.

The medina and kasbah were the two places I returned to again and again, adding finer details to my impressions each time. On my last afternoon I went for a final visit, not to stroll but to shop.

I ambled slowly past the leather, embroidery and brass sellers and into the Souq es Sebbat, the footwear market. What I wanted was a pair of the slipper-like babouches that most Moroccans wear.

The stalls were as narrow as walk-in closets, their walls tightly lined with thousands of shoes. Most were a soft yellow leather, but there were more ornate ones, dyed in every color, gilded, embroidered with silk. I tried on a dozen pairs, bartered for half an hour with the young salesman and settled on $9 for a “First Quality!” pair, shuffling away happy, my old shoes in a bag.

I then passed along the row of jewelry stores, their windows lighted by intricate gold necklaces and bracelets, and turned up Rue des Consuls. Here, among shops selling Rabat’s sought-after hand-woven carpets, were a few places that sold antique--and instant antique--silver pieces. I had window-shopped them all already and knew which one I wanted to enter. I was greeted by two young men, their English good, idiomatic. They immediately figured out I was looking for something for my wife.

“You want a ring for her? A beautiful necklace? I’ll give you good discount. How about this. . . . “ Pieces were taken from the cabinets, spread out. Tea was called for. The bargaining began.

An hour later, the pendant finally in my pocket, I was thinking of dinner when I came upon an old man selling fish behind a wooden box. As I passed, he pulled aside the canvas covering. The box was full of small black eels, wet, alive, freshly caught in the river.

How much did I want, he asked me in French.

“Nothing, thanks,” I said.

He laughed, never expecting to sell eels to a tourist with a camera.

Food is one of the great reasons to travel, and Morocco rewards the gastronome. Rabat is full of excellent places to eat, from the national dish, couscous (steamed semolina, served with a mixture of vegetables and/or meat), in grand restaurants accompanied by live music, to brochettes (kebabs) in small, noisy cafes in the medina.

For my final meal I returned to Restaurant El Bahia, as much for its pleasant courtyard as for the food. I had a lamb and prune tajine, a traditional stew cooked in an earthenware pot, served with warm flat bread. Too full for dessert, I lingered over mint tea and chatted with a young Moroccan couple at the next table about everything from Spanish futbol to Tahar Ben Jelloun, Morocco’s foremost living novelist.

I returned to the hotel late and forewarned the night watchman that I needed to leave early in the morning to get a train to the airport. He nodded.

When I went down to leave in the morning, he wasn’t there. And the door was chained shut. But this time I knew where to find him.

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GUIDEBOOK

Detour to Rabat

Getting there: Most visitors to Rabat are likely to come from Casablanca; trains from the Casablanca airport to the central Rabat Ville station run twice an hour, take two hours and cost $5 (second class).

To fly to Casablanca from Los Angeles, the two most direct choices are Air France, which has a through flight with a stop in Paris, and Delta Airlines, which has a flight changing at New York’s JFK to a Royal Air Maroc flight to Casablanca. Restricted round-trip fares from LAX begin at $997.

Where to stay: One of the city’s finest, Hotel Safir, Place Sidi Makhlouf, telephone 011-212-377-34747, fax 011-212-377-22155, Internet https://www.safir-morocco.com, has great views over the river. Rooms for two average $115. Another good choice is Hotel La Tour Hassan Meridien, 26 Ave. Chellah, tel. 011-212-377-32531, fax 011-212-377-25458, e-mail thassan@mtds.com, with doubles for $165-$275. The Hotel Balima, 71 Ave. Mohammed V, tel. 011-212-377-07755, fax 011-212-377-47050, retains some of the faded grandeur of French colonial times, with double rooms for $43.

Where to eat: Of all the places serving traditional Moroccan food in Rabat, the best, according to a friend who lives there, is Dinarjet, 6 Rue Belgnaoui, local tel. 704-239, in an old mansion in the medina. The multi-course dinner is about $25 per person. Another atmospheric choice is Restaurant El Bahia, tucked into the medina wall on Avenue Hassan II, no phone. A typical dinner is $10. Eat in the courtyard or the Moorish dining room. Alcohol is generally available except in small cafes.

For more information: Moroccan National Tourist Office, 20 E. 46th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10017; tel. (212) 557-2520, fax (212) 949-8148, Internet https://www.tourism-in-morocco.com.